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The Book of Curses
Posted: Tuesday June 01, 1999 12:27 PM
Wait, Mr. Professional Athlete! Don't bite that ear! Don't Heimlich that ump! Don't do something that'll cost you another $10,000! Yes, you got head-butted. Yes, the strike zone is now the size of a coin slot. Yes, Patrick Ewing's knee just made a shambles of your marriage. But violence is not the answer. Profanity is not the answer. Revenge is not the answer. Curses are the answer. Curses hurt. Curses are forever. Curses are harder to take back than clearance sale items. Unfortunately, most curses are hopelessly out of date. May your hens get the itch and your cows the disorder just doesn't have the oomph it used to have. What you need is a new curse. For instance: May all your Victoria's Secret Catalogues feature only Marge Schott. May your car radio be permanently stuck on Farrell on the Bench. May you pull both hammies 10 seconds into Pamplona. May the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show hold its preliminaries in your Buick. May you wait in line a month for The Phantom Menace only to get a seat directly behind Gheorghe Muresan. May you be guessing outside changeup when Randy Johnson comes chin with the gas. May you have a wonderful short game -- but only with your Big Bertha. May Karl Malone's right to swing his elbow begin at your nose. May your living room, with your priceless antique Waterford Crystal collection, be the site of the next DeBartolo family reunion. May you bathe in Lou Holtz's spittle. May all your beers be warm, your nachos cold and your cable signals scrambled. May Michael Buffer do your funeral. May all your bowling and golf scores be transposed. May your daughter leave Yale to marry Lawrence Phillips. May you inherit a lifetime supply of Rice football tickets. May you be able to fit all your friends into Spud Webb's pants. May you be lost in a bad part of Liverpool and surrounded by a band of drunken soccer hooligans, when you suddenly realize your new sweater is of the colors of Manchester United. May your child's avowed role model be Lawrence Taylor. May your nest egg be sunk entirely into the Pittsburgh May all your children bear a remarkable resemblance to Don Zimmer -- and not merely at birth. May you enjoy a lifetime membership to the John Stockton Tanning Salon. May every football thrown your way arrive at the same instant as Junior Seau. May you have four hours of airtime to fill and only Hideki Irabu to fill it. May you graduate first in your class from the Dallas Cowboys Finishing School. May the Undertaker make a day's work of your neck. May your one cup of coffee in the bigs come on the mound at Coors Field. May ESPN's Gary Miller's bathroom window look out onto your prize roses. May Cecil Fielder, Rick Majerus and Nate Newton make up your rhythmic gymnastics team. May each and every crucial decision in your life be made by Los Angeles Clippers vice president of basketball operations Elgin Baylor. May your tattoo artist be more drunk than you are. May you have Allen Iverson's size and Greg Ostertag's quickness. May an Al MacInnis slap shot catch you right in the ... shower. May you win a lifetime subscription to Inside Curling. May you be trapped on a Ferris wheel with George Will and his new 1,000-page book, Essays on the Balk. May your Indy car tires be tethered to your helmet. May the only autograph you ever get be the governor's -- on a denied reprieve. May an amorous, near-sighted grizzly find your Oski the Bear suit incredibly realistic. And, last, may the wind, the road and Bill Parcells be always in your face. Issue date: May 31, 1999
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